


Bound

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Aged-Up Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Blood, Boys Kissing, Couch Cuddles, Gentle Kissing, Kissing, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic Gone Wrong, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rough Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Soul Bond, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Tattoos, bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24159448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles casts a spell to protect Beacon Hills, but something goes wrong and he finds himself bound to Derek.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 19
Kudos: 518





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirjastorotta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirjastorotta/gifts).



Stiles drew in a deep breath, taking a moment to centre himself as he let the world around him drift away. He felt the warmth of his powers seep into his veins, flowing through him as he steadied his breathing.

“Just focus,” Scott encouraged, his quiet voice startling Stiles and pulling him back to reality.

“I know,” Stiles said, hiding the sharp edge of irritation in his voice as he tried to stay calm.

Stiles had been training ever since he discovered his abilities as a Spark. Casting small spells like defensive spells or bursts of energy during their fights was easy, but a spell like this required concentration; focus.

“Just clear your mind of all distractions,” Scott encouraged.

“Easier said than done,” Stiles uttered under his breath.

He drew in a deep breath, letting his eyes fall shut again as he let all distractions drift from his mind.

He was still new to all of this, still learning how to use his powers, and it didn’t help that he had distractions.

“Just take a deep breath and focus.”

“ _I know_ ,” Stiles snapped. He drew in a measured breath, calming down. “Just… let me do it, okay?”

“Okay,” Scott said, taking a step back and watching on.

Stiles sighed, drawing in another breath as he closed his eyes.

He felt the coil of power in his chest slowly unwind, reaching out as the warmth flowed through his body. A silvery glow ran along his body like streams of moonlight as his power ignited his veins.

He tried to focus his energy, channelling it though the runes he’d drawn on the floor in chalk. The scrawls of ancient lettering encircled him, beginning to glow as he channelled his energy into the protection spell—trying to imagine the spell taking effect, stretching from the old water tower on the hill to the Hale house on the far side of the reserve. He tried to envision a woven net of power being laid over the town, shielding Beacon Hills in an unseen magical barrier.

He felt the runes call back to him as the spell took hold.

A strange heat coiled around his left wrist. He winced, letting out a sharp hiss as the coil tightened, burning him. He cried out as searing pain flooding his veins.

He broke away from the spell, his eyes burning with the glow of his power as he collapsed to the floor.

He curled in on himself, cradling his arm to his chest as tears streamed down his pale cheeks.

“Stiles!” Scott called out. He waited for the runes on the floor to stop glowing before running to his friend’s side.

Stiles slowly straightened up, his right arm still curled around the patch of skin that burnt with pain. He sat upright, blinking back his tears as he lowered his arm and cautiously unfurled his fingers. His eyes flew open wide, his heart lurching into his throat as he stared down at the bold black marking that had been burnt into his skin.

It looked like a Celtic symbol, a triquetra: triangular in shape, but the three points were made up of one line that wove over and under itself.

“What the…?” Stiles’ voice trailed off as he stared down at the branding.

The lines were bold and black, standing out against his pale skin as if it were tattooed on his wrist.

But what was more intriguing was the coil of blue light that was tangled around his wrist like thread.

Stiles hesitantly reached out to touch it. He felt the familiar warmth of power radiate against his fingertips, but as he tentatively brushed his fingers across it, his hand slid right through it as if it were only light.

“What is that?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted, staring at it in awe.

“Maybe Derek knows,” Scott suggested, pushing himself back up to his feet. “He knows all sorts of things about this kind of stuff, maybe he knows what happened.”

Stiles hummed in agreement, still focused on the strange blue coil of light and black branding on his wrist. He absentmindedly lifted himself up off the floor, taking a few steps over to his desk and picking up the book of spells he had used. He dropped it into his backpack before stepping over to the door.

Scott pulled his phone out of his pocket and taking a photo of the chalk circle on the floor before leading the way out to the car.

Stiles clambered into the car, still staring at his wrist as Scott started the engine and pulled away from the curb.

The further they drove, the more the coil of blue light began to dim until it faded away, leaving only the bold black lines of the symbol tattooed on his wrist.

“Derek,” Scott called out as they climbed the flights of echoing metal stairs up to the loft.

They’d called ahead, but Scott had made a habit of announcing himself whenever he came over. They stopped before the door to the loft, hauling open the heavy iron door.

The loud rumble echoed through the open space.

“Whatever your problem is, I’m busy,” Derek announced from where he stood hunched over his desk.

The light of midday poured in through the wall of windows, bathing Derek in golden light.

“Stiles did a spell and something happened,” Scott told him.

“That tends to happen when you do spells; things happen,” Derek snarked, looking up from his desk to level Scott with an exasperated look.

“Yeah, but we don’t know if thing was meant to happen or not,” Scott explained.

Derek let out a dramatic sigh. “What thing?”

Stiles tugged up his sleeve slightly and turned his arm to show Derek the triquetra. “This.”

Derek froze, staring at the bold black mark. He stepped out from behind his desk, making his way over to Stiles’ side. He stared at the branding for a moment before pulling up the sleeve of his old sweatshirt and turning his wrist over to show the same symbol branded into his tanned skin.

His eyes darted up to meet Stiles’. “What did you do?”

“I was casting a protection spell over Beacon Hills, and – I guess – something went wrong,” Stiles explained.

“A protection spell?” Derek repeated.

Stiles shrugged his backpack off his shoulder, pulling out the old spell book and opening it up to the page he wanted. He passed it to Derek.

Derek took the book, his eyes focused on the pages as he began to wander back to his desk.

“I took a photo of the circle too,” Scott said, fishing his phone out of his pocket and sending Derek the photo. “Just in case.”

Derek nodded, picking his phone up off the desk and opening the photo and setting it down on the page to compare the spells. He looked from the text book to the circle of runes in the photograph.

“This isn’t the same spell,” he said.

“I had to modify it,” Stiles explained. “The original spell was limited: it was only meant to protect a house or a castle, but I needed it to protect a _town_.”

“And something went wrong in translation?” Derek proposed.

“Maybe,” Stiles said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

Scott looked down at his phone.

“I’ve got to go,” he said quietly, a little impatient. “I’ve got work.”

“Go,” Derek said, not looking up from the book. “I’ll drive Stiles home later.”

Stiles offered him a friendly smile and watched as he left.

Once Scott was gone, Stiles took a step down unto the sunken living room, dragging his feet across the polished concrete and dropping onto the couch.

“You okay?” Derek asked, glancing up at Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied dismissively. “Just a little drained.”

“Do you need anything?” Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. “I’ll be okay. Just need to rest.”

Derek nodded, watching Stiles for a second longer before turning his eyes back to the textbook.

Stiles let his mind wander, his eyes growing heavy as his thoughts drifted away. He lost track of time, only pulling himself back to reality when he heard Derek say, “Oh.”

“What?” Stiles asked, perking up.

He turned to look a Derek, the golden light of day now fading to a glow of pink, red and orange as the sun crept towards the horizon.

“I see where you went wrong,” Derek said.

Stiles scrambled over to the desk, standing beside Derek as he looked down at the pieces of paper with old runes scrawled on them—transcriptions he had made and notes that Derek had taken.

“This is the spell you were trying to cast, right?” Derek said, pointing to the protection spell in the text book.

“Yeah.”

“When you translate the original runes, they read ‘protect home’,” Derek explained. “But in trying to make the spell less limited, you tried to translate it so that it read ‘protection’, correct?”

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed.

“Well, instead of writing ‘protection’, you wrote ‘protect him’,” Derek pointed out, showing Stiles the difference in the runes.

Stiles cursed under his breath. He stepped back from the desk, dragging his hands down his face.

“But ‘him’ could be anyone, so why did it bind you to me?” Derek mused.

“Because I was thinking about you,” Stiles admitted.

Derek looked at him, his brow raised in surprise.

“Well, not _you_ ,” Stiles backtracked. “I was thinking about your house; the boundaries of the spell had to reach from the old water tower to your house, so I guess, in a way, I was thinking about you.”

Stiles turned his face away, trying to hide the fact that his cheeks were flushed bright red.

“How do we break it?” Stiles asked over his shoulder.

Derek was quiet.

An icy shudder clawed its way up Stiles’ spine, sending chills through his veins that froze him in place. He slowly turned to face Derek.

“There is a way to break it, right?” Stiles said, his voice hitching with panic.

“If there is, it’s not here,” Derek told him.

Stiles cursed under his breath.

“There’s more.”

“What?” Stiles asked, hesitant and disheartened.

“When it first appeared, did you see a sort of blue string?” Derek asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles replied.

“That’s what’s binding us,” Derek explained. “It was a manifestation of the bond that only appears when we’re at the limits of its reach. I guess it’s a way of the spell showing that we’re too far away from each other to protect each other.”

“Can we just… cut it?” Stiles asked.

“It’s not physically there, so no,” Derek replied.

Stiles thought it over for a minute. A thought struck him, his heart sinking with realisation.

“I can’t go home,” he said quietly.

Derek nodded, looking at Stiles almost sympathetically.

“You can stay here,” Derek offered.

 _It’s not like I have much of a choice_ , Stiles thought as he wandered back over to the couch and picked up his phone, typing out a message to Scott explaining that he had to stay over at Derek’s and he’s going to need Scott to grab some things from his house—a change of clothes, his toothbrush, and his pillow.

He sent another message to his dad saying he was going to be staying at Derek’s tonight then tossed his phone onto the coffee table, dropping his head into his hands with a dejected sigh.

“Are you alright?” Derek asked quietly.

“I’m fine,” Stiles replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he threw his hands up.

“We’ll find a way to fix this,” Derek said encouragingly.

“Until then, I’ve magically handcuffed us together,” Stiles pointed out. He slumped back against the couch cushions, letting out a heavy sigh as he dropped his gaze. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and full of pain. “I just wanted to do something right. And, like always, all I did was mess up.”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly.

“Don’t,” Stiles interrupted, burying his face in his hands. “Please, just… don’t.”

That night, Stiles slept on the couch.

He didn’t sleep much; he spent most of the night staring at the branding on his wrist, the black marking illuminated by the silvery moonlight that bled through the windows.

He stayed awake long enough to see the sky lighten, streaks of blue, purple, pink and orange lighting up the sky.

It was only as dawn broke that his heavy eyes finally fell shut.

When he woke again, Derek was standing at his desk, looking over stacks of old books.

Stiles sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes as he let out a weak groan.

“Morning,” Derek said quietly, glancing up at him.

“Morning,” Stiles replied lethargically. “What time is it?”

“Nearly midday,” Derek answered.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I figured you could use your sleep,” Derek replied.

“I only got to sleep at like, five—six o’clock,” Stiles admitted, raking his fingers through his tousled hair.

“Was it the couch?” Derek asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

“No,” Stiles replied. “My thoughts kept me awake.”

Derek nodded slightly, quiet for a moment.

“There’s some breakfast and coffee in the kitchen,” he told Stiles. “Help yourself to whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said quietly. He rose from the couch and shuffled into the kitchen.

He switched on the percolator and made a fresh batch of coffee, picking up one of the bagels that Derek had set out on a plate.

He ate the bagel as he waited for the coffee to finish before grabbing two mugs and pouring the coffee and carrying it out to Derek.

He set it down on the desk in front of Derek, careful not to rest it on any books or pages that could get damaged.

“Thanks,” Derek said quietly, picking the mug up and sipping at the coffee.

“What are you doing?” Stiles asked, stepping around the desk to look at the stacks of books; old leather bound books with metal brackets and gold inlay in the worn covers and dusty hardcover books with faded covers and worn spines—all different shapes, sizes and colours.

“Trying to see if there’s anything that could help us with this spell,” Derek said. “But so far the closest I’ve come is a general protection spell.”

“And protection spells are made to never be broken; they’re meant to last until the caster’s death,” Stiles said, more so to himself. He let out a heavy sigh. “So, what do we do?”

“We keep looking,” Derek said, slightly disheartened.

“Alright,” Stiles said, picking up a couple of the old books from the pile. He carried them over to the couch and set them down on the coffee table. He set aside his mug and picked up the first book, carefully opening the cover and turning through the wrinkled brown pages that had been thumbed smooth with reading.

He read page after page of spells – a lot of the books written in runic languages that he would have to translate – but to no avail. He couldn’t find any protection spells that were meant to protect people, nor anything about how to break a protection spell.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh, sinking back into the cushions of the couch.

He held out his arm, looking down at the triquetra on his wrist.

“It could be worse,” Derek said, his deep voice breaking the surprisingly comfortable quiet that had settled between them.

“How’s that?” Stiles asked.

“At least it’s a triquetra and not something phallic,” Derek said. “Just imagine being bound to someone and having what looks like a dick drawn in sharpie on your arm… or your face.”

Stiles snorted and burst out laughing at the thought.

After a moment he quietened.

“I don’t care that it’s there,” Stiles explained. “I just care that it’s bound me to you; I care that you’re…” He let out a heavy sigh, his voice quieting even more. “… that you’re trapped.”

“I’m not trapped,” Derek said, trying to sound reassuring.

“You’re stuck with me,” Stiles reminded him.

“There are worse people to be stuck with,” Derek told him. “Could you imagine being bound to Isaac or Jackson?”

Stiles screwed his face up. “Oh god.”

Derek let out a low chuckle. “Like I said, it could be worse.”

He stepped away from the desk and crossed over to Stiles’ side, picking up the old hardcover book that was sprawled open in Stiles’ lap.

“Let’s order dinner and start anew tomorrow,” Derek suggested.

Stiles let out a heavy sigh.

“Alright ,” he agreed, watching as Derek picked up his phone and placed the order he had memorised from years of pack meetings and movie nights.

“You take the bed tonight,” Derek said as he packed up the books.

“No, I’ll take the couch,” Stiles politely refused. “I’m not going to sleep anyway.”

“You’re taking the bed,” Derek said with finality, leaving no room for argument.

“Derek, it’s fine, really.”

“Either take the bed, or I’ll wait until you’re asleep and put you there myself,” Derek said, threateningly.

“Fine,” Stiles said, throwing his arms into the air. “But only because I don’t want you watching me like a creeper.”

He grabbed his pillow and made his way over to the bed, grumbling under his breath. He crossed the loft, stepping up the small step that led to the alcove where Derek had set up his bedroom. He threw his pillow down on the bed and threw back the blankets.

He slid into the bed and pulled the blankets up over himself, wrapping himself in the warm embrace of a cocoon of sheets.

He listened as Derek switched off the lights and lay down on the couch.

Stiles drew in a deep breath, the scent of Derek’s musk that lingered in the sheets putting him at ease.

He felt his body relax, sinking into the soft sheets as his heavy eyes fell shut. He tried to fight it for a moment, but sleep inevitably won over, pulling him down into the darkness.

Stiles sat, cross-legged, on the couch—a sharpie in one hand and a bunch of dusty old books lying around him, their withered pages – browned with age – open. He closed his eyes as he tried to think.

He bit into the lid of the sharpie and pulled it off, holding out the arm that had the triquetra braded onto it. He drew runes across his skin in scrawls of black ink.

“You’d better not be drawing a dick,” Derek said from where he stood at his desk.

Stiles tilted his head back, spitting the sharpie lid into the air and catching it.

Derek looked up at him, meeting the young man’s gaze and narrowing his eyes slightly—questioningly.

“I’m not drawing a dick,” Stiles reassured him. “I’m trying a more direct approach.”

Derek’s brows furrowed slightly as he looked at Stiles in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The bond was made by magic, so I’m going to try using magic to break it.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Derek asked.

“We’ve found nothing in these books and I hate sitting around, doing nothing and feeling useless,” Stiles objected.

“You’re not useless,” Derek replied, voice soft. “And if you think it’ll work, then I trust you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Aw, Sourwolf,” Stiles cooed teasingly. “You do care.”

Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles chuckled.

“I want to at least try,” Stiles said, looking at Derek as if he were asking for permission.

“Okay,” Derek said. “I trust you.”

Stiles felt a strange warmth settle in his chest, a sweet smile playing across his lips.

“What do you need me to do?” Derek asked.

“I just need some quiet to focus,” Stiles told him.

“Okay,” Derek said, taking a step back and standing back behind his desk again.

Stiles sat back against the soft cushions of the sofa, letting his eyes fall shut as he tried to focus. He breathed in deeply, feeling the tension in his body ease as he unleashed his hold on his power.

The familiar warmth soared through his body as his power coursed through his veins. He felt it outline his body, drawn to the blue thread that was tangled around his wrist.

He focused on the runes he’d drawn there, focusing on the word he’d written beneath the triquetra.

 _Unravel_.

He tried to imagine the blue thread slowly fraying, strands pulling away and drifting into the air like embers rising from a fire only to flicker out in the darkness.

He concentrated on imagining the coil of magic unravelling; the strands that were wound together like rope slowly began to loosen, unwinding. Piece by piece, it began to weaken and fray, flickering blue embers drifting away.

He felt his hold on his powers weaken. There was a rush of air that threw him into reality, eyes flying open as he gasped. The glow of his irises faded back to their natural hue.

“Stiles?” Derek called out, unable to hide the panic in his voice as he rushed over to Stiles’ side. “Are you okay?”

“I think I can do it,” Stiles said, still trying to catch his breath. “I don’t know how to remove the triquetra, but I might be able to unravel the bond.”

Derek lay on the couch, the old blue and grey blanket pulled up to his chest. His eyes were shut but he wasn’t asleep.

Stiles stood over him, glaring down at him.

“You’re in my spot,” he said.

“No, I’m not,” Derek replied calmly, not opening his eyes.

“I had the bed last night, it’s your turn,” Stiles argued.

“My house, my rules,” Derek muttered.

Stiles let out a frustrated sigh and climbed up onto the couch, flopping on top of Derek with an exaggerated sigh.

“What are you doing?” Derek objected.

“Being petty,” Stiles answered honestly.

“Stiles, get off me,” Derek growled.

“Not until you agree to give me the couch.”

“Stiles,” Derek said warningly.

“I’m sleeping here tonight, whether you move or not,” Stiles threatened.

“Stiles,” Derek growled, pushing himself up onto his elbows and levelling his gaze with Stiles’.

He seemed to realise at the same time just how close they were.

Stiles blinked in surprise, his dark brown eyes turning to pools of gold as they caught the light. His lips quivered slightly as he tried to find his voice, his face flushed with warmth as a rosy pink blush coloured his cheeks.

Derek’s pale aventurine eyes darted from Stiles’ eyes to his lips and back up again. He shifted his weight slightly, edging closer—hesitant, as if he expected Stiles to pull away.

He lifted his hand to cup Stiles’ cheek, tilting his head and leaning in close; his lips millimetres away from Stiles’.

The warmth of his breath rolling across Stiles’ lips sent a shiver down the young man’s spine. He felt his breath hitch in anticipation as he leant forward slightly, urging Derek on.

Derek drew their lips together.

Stiles let his breath fall from his lungs as his shoulders dropped. His eyes fluttered shut as he melted into Derek’s arms. He set one hand against the man’s chest, balling the soft cotton of his shirt into his fist.

Derek sat up a little more, dropping his other hand to Stiles’ waist and pulling him close.

Stiles sighed in return, looping an arm around Derek’s shoulders and running his fingers through Derek’s hair. He pulled the soft tufts into his fist as his other hand ran up to the man’s shoulder and down his bicep and back, yearning to feel every inch of him.

His lungs burnt so much he wanted to cry but he desperately didn’t want to let go.

Derek broke away first, drawing back slightly and licking his lips as if to savour the kiss.

Stiles tilted his chin, chasing his Derek’s lips. He felt Derek chuckle against his mouth as he brought them back together again.

Derek gently pulled Stiles closer, holding the young man against himself as he sat up more and laid Stiles back against the couch cushions.

Stiles hooked his legs around Derek’s waist, urging him on.

Derek felt Stiles smiles against his lips as he pressed his body against Stiles’, pinning him in place.

He drew back from the kiss and craned his neck, trailing kisses across the young man’s cheek, jaw, and neck. He buried his face in the curve of Stiles’ neck, gently kissing, sucking and nipping at the pale flesh; making Stiles moan.

“Derek,” Stiles gasped.

The sound of his name on the young man’s lips sent chills through Derek’s veins. He let out a low growl in response, pressing soft kisses against the patches of reddening skin before bringing his lips back to Stiles’.

They don’t know how long they stayed like that – entangled in each other’s warmth and ensnared in passionate kisses – but eventually they fell asleep, curled up in each other’s arms and stretched out across the couch.

When Stiles awoke the next morning, he was alone.

He sat up on the couch, blinking his heavy eyes as he took in his surroundings.

The quiet was disturbed by the rumble of the metal stairs as Derek made his way down from the mezzanine.

“Morning,” Stiles said quietly.

Derek nodded slightly.

Stiles frowned slightly.

“Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Derek said curtly.

“Are we going to talk about what happened last night?” Stiles asked.

“No,” Derek replied gruffly.

“Look, if you regret it then just say so; we’ll put it behind us and pretend it didn’t happen,” Stiles said.

“I don’t regret it,” Derek blurted out. “And I don’t want to pretend it didn’t happen. But I don’t want to talk about it until I know for sure that what happened last night was because of what I feel for you and not because of this spell.”

Stiles felt his heart sink into his gut, his stomach twisting into knots as he sat back against the cushions of the couch.

“Right,” he said quietly.

He lifted himself to his feet, making his way into the kitchen to get breakfast and coffee. He made his way back to the couch, sitting down and crossing his legs underneath him.

He drew in a deep breath, closing his eyes. He tried to let his mind drift, but swarming thoughts made it hard to focus.

“I can’t do this,’ he said abruptly, opening his eyes. “You may be able to set this aside, but I can’t concentrate until I get answers.”

“Stiles,” Derek said, almost pleadingly.

“I’m not going to ask you how you feel about me now,” Stiles told him. “But I need to know, did you feel that way about me before—before the spell, before me being here, before we kissed?”

Derek let out a measured breath.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“And you never said anything?” Stiles asked.

“I was scared that you wouldn’t feel the same way or that I’d scare you off,” Derek confessed. “And I’d much rather have you as a friend and not tell you how I feel than lose you.”

“And it never occurred to you that I might feel the same way?”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” Stiles admitted. “I’ve felt that way about you for the longest time. But I never thought you could ever like someone like me.”

“This entire time,” Derek muttered, his voice trailing off as he let out a quiet, breathless chuckle. He bowed his head slightly as he tried to hide a bashful smile.

Stiles felt a sigh of relief escape his lips; he’d wanted to say that out loud for so long.

“Okay, now that we have that in the open, what now?” Stiles asked.

“Now we break the spell, and then talk about what happens next,” Derek said.

“Okay,” Stiles agreed, feeling the knot of tension in his stomach slowly uncoil. He drew in a deep breath, settling back against the soft cushions as he felt his anxiety ease.

He let his eyes drift shut, breathing steadily as he slowly unravelled the tendrils of his power. The familiar warmth ignited his veins as he focused on the strand of power wrapped around his wrist.

He took his time, slowly unravelling it. He let the coil of blue energy fray, flickering embers drifting like dust in sunlight before disappearing in the darkness.

The band began to thin out, bit by bit.

He felt his hold on his power start to slip.

 _No,_ he thought. _I’m so close. Just a little longer_.

He drew in a deep breath, holding it as he tried to focus his energy.

He felt hot tears prick at his eyes. His lungs felt as if they were filled with fire, burning him from the inside and desperate to draw breath.

He reached out for the thin blue strand wrapped around his wrist, feeling his power grasp it and pull.

The strand snapped, drifting into the air and fizzling out.

Stiles watched it disappear into the darkness, letting his hold on his power slip as he drew in a deep breath as he opened his eyes.

His eyes were heavy and unfocused, his vision blurred to streaks of colour and light. Somewhere among the blur, he could make out Derek’s face, the man’s expression warped by panic and worry as he stared at Stiles. His lips were moving, but Stiles couldn’t hear what he was saying.

He felt a strange warmth trickle from his nose, running down his face.

His lips quivered as he tried to find his voice, but his words died away in his throat.

Darkness crept in around the edges of his vision. His eyes fell shut, his body weakening. The world seemed to disappear beneath him as he was dragged into the abyss.

Stiles let out a weak groan as he woke up, wincing as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light.

He found himself lying in bed, wrapped in the warmth of a soft blanket and surrounded by a comforting scent.

His head was throbbing and his body ached.

He slowly pushed himself up onto his elbows, his pulse throbbing in his ears as the room spun around him.

The front of his shirt was stained with splatters of red and brown—blood. He remembered feeling the strange warmth of something trickling from his nose just before he blacked out.

He braced his hands on the mattress and pushed himself upright, regretting it almost instantly as the world around him spun turbulently.

He felt a wave of bile rise into his throat, burning his oesophagus as he swallowed hard.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a familiar voice called out, rushing to his side. “Take it easy.”

Stiles looked up at Derek.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice quiet and raspy.

“You passed out,” Derek told him. “I thought you promised not to push yourself too far.”

“I was so close to breaking the spell, I just needed a second longer,” Stiles said. “I did it, by the way. You’re welcome.”

“Welcome?!” Derek cried out.

Stiles flinched, the man’s voice making his head pound.

“Stiles, I didn’t care if it took days, weeks—hell, even years –to break the spell,” Derek growled. “I didn’t want you to take it too far. I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I had it under control,” Stiles replied weakly.

“Under control?” Derek scoffed. “You passed out, Stiles.”

Derek raked his hand through his hair, letting out a heavy sigh.

“Just…” His voice broke off, growing quiet. “Get some rest.”

Derek turned and walked back into the open space of the loft.

Stiles felt his heart sink into his gut. He lay down, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders as his heavy eyes drifted shut.

A few hours later, he was drifting in and out of sleep when a familiar warmth laid down beside him.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d join me,” Stiles said quietly.

“I’m still debating it,” Derek replied gruffly.

Stiles let out a soft sigh. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know,” Derek said, his voice softening. He exhaled heavily. “Stiles, you scared the shit out of me.”

He turned to look at Stiles, his pale aventrine eyes lit by the dim light of dusk that bled through the windows.

“Another reason I didn’t tell you how I felt about you was because I was trying to protect you,” Derek told him. “Everyone I’ve ever loved, I’ve lost. And I don’t want to lose you. I _can’t_ lose you, because if I lost you I… I wouldn’t survive.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered.

Derek let out a measured breath. “I know.”

Stiles shuffled closer, curling up against Derek’s side.

He waited for Derek to pull away, but he didn’t; he wrapped his arms around Stiles, holding him close.

Stiles nuzzled his face into Derek’s warmth.

“You won’t lose me,” he promised.

Derek seemed to relax, the tension easing from his body slightly. He rested his cheek atop the tousled mess of Stiles’ hair, holding the young man close.

“Are we going to talk about this or not?” Stiles asked, the soft blanket pooling around his waist as he sat up in bed.

The golden light of the early morning streamed through the large windows, illuminating the loft.

“Talk about what?” Derek called back from the small kitchenette.

“About us,” Stiles answered.

Derek came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Stiles before sitting down on the edge of the bed.

Stiles looked down at the mug he cradled in his hands, feeling the warmth seep into the palms of his hands.

“I like you,” he admitted, not able to look up at Derek. He swallowed his pride. “I _really_ like you. And I don’t know if I have a shot, because God knows you deserve better than me—”

“I like you too,” Derek said, interrupting Stiles’ rambling. “And I really want to be with you… That is, if you want to.”

“More than anything,” Stiles blurted out.

A second later, he realised what he’d said. His face turned red as he bashfully bowed his head.

Derek let out a quiet chuckle.

He reached forward, gently sliding a finger beneath Stiles’ chin and tilting the young man’s head up. He met Stiles’ gaze, looking deep into the dark brown depths that turned to honey in the morning light.

He leant forward, bringing his lips to Stiles’ in a tender, loving kiss.

Stiles’ eyes fluttered shut as he melted into Derek’s touch.

Derek drew back slightly, resting his forehead against Stiles’.

A sweet smile played across Stiles’ lips. He tilted his chin and brought their lips together again in a chaste kiss.

Derek gently cupped Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles caught a glimpse of the bold black lines of the triquetra that were branded on his wrist.

He pulled back slightly, taking Derek’s hand in his and looking down at the symbol.

“I promise, I’ll find a way to get rid of that,” Stiles said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek said softly. “I’m starting to like it.”

A smile turned up the corners of his lips as he looked up at Stiles.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile back.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


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